Walking on My Grave

by Carolyn Hart

  12

  Annie loved the view of the harbor from Billy’s office window. February offered days that hinted of spring to come, shining blue sky, puffy white clouds, silvery porpoises leaping as if for joy. A brisk onshore breeze trimmed jade green water with whitecaps. A shrimp boat moved steadily past. An iceberg-white yacht glided south.

  Annie turned her gaze to Billy, sitting stolidly behind his shiny yellow oak desk. His stepson Kevin had made the desk. The varnish was sticky and there was a slight list to Billy’s right. Billy’s face was expressionless, but his eyes were intent.

  Katherine leaned forward. She looked insubstantial in the smock, but her voice was clipped and urgent. “I want you to understand why I was upset. Bob, oh God, he went to Gurney Point and I think he would have jumped into the water if your officer hadn’t followed him. I tried to thank her and she was matter-of-fact, said, ‘Ma’am, it’s my job to see that people are safe.’” Katherine’s voice quivered. She pressed her lips together for an instant, managed to keep going. “That’s what I was carrying with me. I talked to Bob. I told him”—the planes of her face sharpened—“I can’t live without you. Oh, I’d live. But it wouldn’t be life. There wouldn’t be joy or meaning, only one dead dull day after another. I told him he must never never never think he’s a burden. That’s what I was dealing with the next day, the Thursday that someone set the trap for Ves.”

  Katherine looked out the window at the harbor, but Annie knew she didn’t see blue skies or puffy white clouds.

  “Bob went to Gurney Point Wednesday. The next day was the Thursday Ves fell.” Billy spoke quietly.

  Katherine faced him. A pulse fluttered in her slender throat. “All day I tried to think what I could do. There isn’t much money now. I can’t earn what Bob did. And”—her tone was fierce—“I won’t sell his paintings. He’ll never paint again. I can’t sell his paintings. I decided to go see Ves.” She brushed back a swoop of dark hair. “I thought she’d help me. She’s—” A breath. “She was kind. I was going to tell her how I’d nearly lost Bob. I was going to ask her for twenty thousand, tell her somehow to subtract it from whatever we’d get someday, and I would promise never to tell any of the others. They all wanted money from her. I could see why she felt like she was surrounded by crabs with their claws grasping. But this was Bob’s life.” She stared at Billy, her eyes huge. “I drove to her house.”

  Billy held up his hand. He opened a drawer, lifted out a recorder, placed it on the desk, turned it on. He looked at Katherine and recited the Miranda warning.

  She stared for an instant, gave a strangled laugh. “I don’t care. I’m trying to tell you what happened.”

  Billy nodded. “Police Chief Billy Cameron. Friday, February twenty-sixth, interrogating Katherine Farley, a possible person of interest in the murders of Fred Butler and Adam Nash and the disappearance of Vesta Roundtree. Now—”

  Annie heard Billy’s words, was puzzled. Billy talked about Ves’s disappearance, but Bob admitted he’d murdered her.

  “—Mrs. Farley, what time did you arrive at Ves Roundtree’s house on Thursday, February eleventh?”

  Katherine pleated her fingers together. “About twenty after five.”

  “Did you see any cars?”

  For an instant, she looked surprised. “No. I suppose that should have told me she wasn’t there. I didn’t think about it. I wanted to see her. I thought she’d put her car in the garage. I pulled up on the drive. I started to walk back to the front of the house, but as I came even with the porch I saw the back door was open. I veered that way, went up the back steps. I was right, the back door was open.”

  “Ajar or fully open?”

  “Wide open. I hurried up the back steps, came to the door, knocked on the jamb.” For the first time, the rush of words slowed. “I pulled open the screen, stepped into the back hallway.”

  “Could you see the stairs?”

  Katherine’s nod was impatient. “The hallway extends from the front door to the back door. The stairs were to my left. I would have had to go to the front of the hall to go up the stairs. Or to look up the stairs.”

  “Did you?”

  “No.” Her voice was flat.

  “What did you do?”

  “I stopped inside the screen door and called out. There was no answer.” Now her words came slowly. “I don’t know if I can make you understand, but suddenly I was afraid. It was quiet. Terribly quiet. The back door open. Calling for Ves and no answer. I started backing up and then I was at the door and outside and running for my car. I don’t know why I ran. But I did. I slammed in the car and got out of there as fast as I could.”

  Billy’s gaze was considering.

  Annie wondered if Billy felt he was hearing the truth, a woman who likely had entered a house where a killer lurked and interrupted the cleaning of a slick step or a woman spinning a tale to divert an investigator. Had she walked into the hallway and the sound of the door and her call sent a killer scurrying upstairs and out of sight?

  “Did you tell anyone of this experience?”

  “No.”

  “Why are you telling me now?”

  Her shoulders tightened. “The next week on Wednesday we went to Ves’s house.”

  Billy nodded. “That was the day Ms. Roundtree told you how she’d been hurt, the day Fred Butler died.”

  She nodded. “That night, after we got home, Bob went to his room.” For an instant she looked defensive. “He has his own room now. He sleeps poorly and he doesn’t want to keep me awake.”

  Annie heard more than the halting explanation, wondered if Bob Farley resisted closeness because he was no longer able to make love to his wife.

  “I was restless. I couldn’t seem to read. I decided to go to the studio. I didn’t come back to the house until a little after midnight. Bob was in the living room. I told him I’d been working.”

  “Did you meet Fred Butler?”

  “No.” A steady gaze. “I did not meet Fred. I had nothing to do with Ves’s disappearance on Monday or Adam’s death on Tuesday.” A pause. “I was working in the studio Monday night. I delivered the alligator painting Tuesday afternoon.” She looked defiant. She had good explanations for her whereabouts at all the critical times, but that didn’t change the fact she had the opportunity to have been on the pier or at Ves’s house or in Adam’s office.

  “Did you go to Adam’s office?”

  “I did not.”

  “Did you shoot him?”

  “No.”

  “Your husband’s gun was gone when I came to your house Wednesday. I called you on the extension. When you joined us, you claimed you had no idea where the gun was. Is that true?”

  Her shoulders bowed. “I took the gun from the bedside table the day after Bob tried to jump into the water. Bob was in his shower. I slipped downstairs and put the gun in my trunk. I was afraid to keep it where he could get it.”

  “What did you do with the gun?”

  “I went to Blackbeard Beach and threw the gun as far as I could.”

  Billy made a notation. “Convenient that you claim to have disposed of the gun long before Adam Nash was killed or shots were fired at Jane Wilson.”

  “Not convenient. True.” Katherine’s stare was straight. “I wasn’t home last night when someone shot at Jane. I was working in the studio. I’m trying to finish a commission. We need the money. I didn’t come back to the house until ten or so. This morning we had the radio on and heard that shots were fired at Jane last night. Bob looked upset. I told him I thought it was awful. She’s so young and so nice. I thought he looked at me strangely, but everything has been so odd. I asked him if he wanted to do anything this morning and he shook his head, said he was tired, thought he’d read, so I went to the studio. I heard Bob’s car leave.” She looked defiant. “I’d fixed it where I can track his cell on GPS. If he’d started for som
ewhere solitary, I would have followed. He parked downtown so I didn’t worry.”

  “He came here. He confessed.”

  “He’s lying.” There was pain in her voice. “He thinks he’s saving me. He knows I could have killed them. I was out at the times the paper said they died. Worst of all, he knew the gun was gone, and I was the only person who could have taken it.”

  Billy said smoothly, “Unless you were as surprised as you seemed when I was at your house and Bob took the gun, used it, hid it or threw it away.”

  “Not Bob.” It was a cry of despair. Her mouth twisted. “You think I’m lying to protect him. I would lie for him. But I’m not. He’s lying for me, and I didn’t kill them. Neither of us killed them. Don’t you see, Bob knew I lied about the delivery. He wouldn’t understand why I’d tell a lie unless I had something to hide. I did have something to hide. I didn’t want to admit I’d gone to Ves’s house, especially not after she told us someone tried to kill her. Bob knew I was out at all the times that mattered. This morning, after I went to the studio, he thought about the times and my lies and decided I’d tried to kill Ves, and Fred saw me so I had to kill him. He knew the only reason I would hurt anyone would be for him, so he came here, claimed he’d killed them.” Katherine’s face was no longer defiant or hopeful or anxious. She looked like a woman driven to despair. “Please tell Bob I didn’t shoot anyone. Tell him everything is all right. Let him go.”

  Billy’s face furrowed. “I told your husband he could call, arrange for a lawyer to come. He insisted he did not want a lawyer.”

  Katherine was adamant. “He must have a lawyer.”

  “I agree. He confessed to a series of crimes. I have taken him into custody.” Billy’s expression was odd, part exasperation, part dismay. “Normally I wouldn’t disclose his response, but you are his wife. As I locked the cell, I told him again that he could remain silent and call a lawyer. He hooked one hand around a bar and said, ‘I don’t want a lawyer. I have nothing to say. Not to a lawyer. Not to you. Not to anybody. I’m keeping it for the judge. When I go to court, I’ll tell the judge I’m guilty. End of story. Until then, I intend to relax.’ He turned his back on me and limped to the cot.”

  “He lied about the murders.” Katherine’s voice was shrill. “He thinks he’s protecting me. Tell him I’m here and that I’ve told you everything. Tell him I will get a lawyer. Tell him”—her voice shook—“I want to see him.”

  “I will tell him.” Billy’s face was expressionless.

  Annie thought his voice was uncommonly gentle.

  When the door closed behind him, Katherine turned to Annie. “He has to see me.”

  Annie wanted to reassure Katherine, but she could hear Billy’s voice, stolid and uninflected as he quoted Bob Farley: “I’ll tell the judge I’m guilty. End of story.” “Perhaps tomorrow he’ll talk to you.”

  Katherine spoke rapidly. “I’ll get a lawyer. Jed Lowery handles things for us. The minute I get out of here, I’ll go straight to his office.”

  Annie knew Jed, who wrote wills and handled probates and real estate law. He was pleasant, intelligent, and had likely handled criminal matters only if appointed by the court. “There’s a wonderful defense attorney in Savannah. Handler Jones.”

  Katherine came to her feet, paced to the window. She whirled to look at Annie. “How can it be such a beautiful day and my whole life is falling part?”

  The door opened. Billy stepped inside, closed the door behind him, remained standing. He was an imposing figure, tall, solid, powerfully built. Slowly he shook his head. Annie saw sadness in his eyes, sadness at bringing hurtful news to a woman desperately afraid for the man she loved.

  • • •

  Annie watched Katherine’s car bolt out of the police lot. She felt empty and sad. How did lives get so tangled? Bob and Katherine. Before his accident, they’d been a golden couple, the envy of many, physically attractive, full of charm and life, gifted, busy, successful. Now Bob was in a cell and Katherine was frantically trying to save him. What was the truth? Was Bob lying to protect her? Or was he quite certain that Katherine went to Ves’s house, made the step slick, and when threatened by Fred’s knowledge met him on the pier and pushed him to his death? Fred would not have been afraid for his safety with a woman. She could have convinced him that she wanted to talk, that they could reach an understanding. After that, perhaps it seemed easy to go see Ves, perhaps force her to leave the house at gunpoint. Had Ves died in the woods or was her body somewhere in the sea? As for Adam, was his murder simply to increase the size of the pot or had he become a danger?

  The fact that Bob was in a cell meant either he was guilty or Katherine was guilty. No matter how much Katherine loved him, admitting her guilt would not help him. He would obviously claim she was making it up to protect him.

  Katherine had the opportunity to commit the crimes.

  Bob or Katherine? Katherine or Bob?

  Annie looked out at the harbor. She didn’t know when the water had ever seemed more beautiful, its color a rich jade green and above, a bright sky full of promise. A yacht neared shore, its hull a gleaming white. A man and woman stood near the prow. They looked young and happy, coming to the island for a holiday.

  It was unsettling to juxtapose her memory of Katherine’s face and the beauty of the day. Her cell phone rang, the tune for Max. As always, she felt a surge of happiness.

  • • •

  Hyla Harrison, crisp as always in her french blue uniform, pointed at the chair Katherine had occupied.

  Billy nodded. “Pick up what prints you can. Check them against the unidentified prints on the screen door at the Roundtree house.”

  Hyla’s green eyes were alert. “She can claim she touched the door when she came to dinner there or the night that Ms. Roundtree called them there to warn them.”

  “The prints may be among the most recent, overlaying other prints. It’s been several days since she was there as a guest. And”—his blue eyes were grim—“her husband may use a cane, but I imagine I can prove he customarily opened doors for her.”

  Hyla’s gaze was admiring.

  Annie hurried along the sidewalk toward You Want It, We Have It, the secondhand store where Jane Wilson worked. Max’s call to arrange lunch at Parotti’s had given her some perspective. It was up to Billy to decide whether Bob or Katherine was guilty. But Bob in jail likely meant the danger was over. If Katherine was the murderer, she would not attack anyone now. Jane Wilson no longer needed to be afraid. Annie was eager to bring her that good news. The bell sang a cheerful song as she opened the shop door. She stepped into the center aisle, looked about.

  Jane came hurrying up the aisle, her bronze heels making a sharp tattoo as she hurried forward. Close behind her loomed Lou, broad face easing into a warm smile. “Hey, Annie.”

  Annie smiled in return. What a handsome couple they made, sturdy muscular Lou, sweet-faced Jane with her cloud of soft brown hair. That sheath dress set off her willowy figure quite perfectly.

  Lou was in charge. He made a high five. “Have you heard the news? Bob Farley’s in jail.”

  Annie knew neither Lou nor Jane was thinking of what that reality meant to Bob and Katherine. Understandably, they were elated that Jane was safe from attack.

  Jane’s sweet face was suddenly somber. “It’s dreadful for Katherine to know that Bob did such terrible things.”

  “Katherine says he’s innocent.”

  Lou was sardonic. “What else is she going to say?” His face brightened. “Hey, Annie, put in a good word for me. I’m trying to persuade Jane to close down the shop, come out on my boat with me.”

  Jane gave him a cheerful smile. “I can go with you Sunday. I can’t close down. I owe too many hours anyway.”

  “I’ll get my sister Maggie to take over.” He was determined. “She used to work at Walmart in Hilton Head. She knows how to handle a ca
sh register.” He pulled out his cell. “I’ll call her right now.”

  Annie was surprised. Obviously the station would alert him that he no longer needed to protect Jane, but didn’t he need to get back to work? She blurted out, “Don’t you have to work, too, Lou?”

  He gave her an impish grin. “The chief was going to have a patrol keep an eye on the shop today, but I was due a few days off so I decided to take them. Jane and my sis Angie were really good friends in high school. The least I could do.”

  Jane’s cheeks were pink. “Isn’t that sweet of Lou?”

  “So”—his tone was teasing—“you owe me. I don’t want to waste my time off, and boating alone is no fun. I’ll get Maggie over here ASAP.” He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll step outside,” he said, and he hurried toward the front door.

  Annie suspected he intended to tell Maggie she had to help him out, it was big-time important.

  The door closed behind him. Annie turned to Jane. “I know it’s a huge relief. You can tell Tim he can relax.”

  For an instant, her face was still. “Oh. I suppose I should call Tim.” The front door began to open. “But not right now.”

  • • •

  Hyla Harrison reported in her usual crisp fashion. “I checked the prints we made on the screen door Tuesday. Several correspond with those left on the chair by Katherine Farley. However, they are overlain by prints from Ves Roundtree.”

  Billy Cameron asked quickly. “Are any Farley prints on top of other prints?”

  “No, sir. I picked up fragments of her prints below Ms. Roundtree’s prints.”

  “Are any of the prints on the screen door smudged?”

  Hyla’s eyes narrowed. “I would not describe them as ‘smudged.’ Portions of prints overlay prints but there is no indication, for example, that a gloved hand gripped the panel.”

  “Good work, Officer.”

  As the door closed behind Hyla, he faced an unpalatable truth. He had a perilous course to navigate. A buzz. He flicked on the intercom.